The Girl On the Spaceship
by katydidit
Summary: A look at Rose during and after The Girl in the Fireplace. Spoilers for The Girl in the Fireplace...clearly. Chapter 6 now up.
1. Chapter 1

"What happened? Where did the time window go?"

Rose stared numbly at where the mirror had been, where her Doctor had disappeared. She was too numb, too shocked to do anything or say anything, or even bloody think anything. It was as though she were stuck in that nanosecond after he'd crashed through the mirror: stuck between heartbeats, between breaths, between blinks of her eyes. Except she knew she wasn't—she heard Mickey panicking behind her.

"How's he gonna get back?"

She became aware of the burning of tears behind her eyes, the fire in her lungs demanding she take in more oxygen. If only she could really freeze here in time, the way that clockwork man had frozen with the fire extinguisher, she could pretend that the Doctor would really come back to her. But she wasn't, and he wasn't, either. A tear slipped down her cheek, its cooling track a welcome change from the burning under her skin. "He's not," she said, but not out loud. Her mouth wasn't working. Nothing was working. Nothing would ever work again, not without Him.

"We can't fly the TARDIS without him. How's he gonna get back, Rose?"

Mickey was behind her somewhere, still going on, disrupting the mournful silence that had settled around her. Didn't he get it? Then again, even she didn't get it. How could this have happened? How could he have left her like that, without even thinking? He'd merely gone to find that blasted horse, jumped on it like some sort of cowboy, and then crashed through that glass. Had he even looked her way? She held back any replies to Mickey that sluggishly began to appear in her brain, and instead looked out the window, into the star-filled sky.

It hadn't been enough time. She hadn't spent long enough with this man. Then again, who could blame him for not wanting to spend any longer with her than he had to? He'd had plenty of women—he'd had Cleopatra of the bloody Nile for god's sake. And Sarah Jane. And Madame Pompadour, the beautiful mistress of the King of France. What did he want with little Rose Tyler, shop girl, eater of chips? She was lucky, that was all—lucky that she'd had even this long with him.

Hours passed. Too many hours. Mickey had long since quieted, sat down in some far corner of the room. He was somehow far more accepting of the Doctor's disappearance than Rose was, even despite her resignation to the whole ordeal. Finally she heard him move again, heard him coming toward her. "Rose…" he said softly. She recognized that voice—he'd used it when her cat had died a few years ago. It was overly gentle, as though he were afraid that if he spoke too loudly, she'd crack or something. "Rose, come away from there. Come sit down or something. I found some chips on the TARDIS: why don't you come eat with me."

Chips. She was expected to eat chips? Rose scoffed, but it turned into a sob. She was moving now, unfrozen and collapsing all at the same time. Mickey moved quickly to catch her, but wasn't fast enough: she'd fallen to the ground and, ignoring the dull ache in her thigh from the hard ground, was sitting up and hiding her face in her hands. "He's gone, Mickey," she sobbed. "The Doctor's just up and left me, Mickey, without a warning or even a goodbye, so tell me if you can, just how the hell I'm supposed to go about eating bloody _chips_!"

Mickey didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to, really. Instead, he knelt next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She was tempted to shrug it off, but at his touch, so warm and soft and human and…present, something deep inside of her snapped and she turned to bury her face in his shoulder. Rose wasn't crying anymore, but she would do anything to block this out of her mind, to stop looking at the empty wall that had swallowed up her Doctor, never to let him return again.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, what's all this, then? Has someone died?"

It was a familiar voice: too familiar. It was a dream, that was all. Rose sobbed a little harder, clutched Mickey's shirt while he rubbed her back. "Rose, look up, love," he says, nudging her gently. _He can't be having the same dream_, she told herself. _It's just not fair. _

Unless…maybe he's talking about one of those clockwork men again. At this point, she decided, it wouldn't be so bad to be locked into one of those metal beds while something sawed into her flesh or bone or whatever they'd wanted to take from her. She was numb enough now, that it wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'd even feel nice—physical pain to even out the pain on her insides. Mickey jarred her again, and she finally pulled away, ready now to face either her hallucination or her death.

But he stood there, hands in his pockets and one of those cocky grins on his face, and she jumped up, moving to stand in front of him. He accepted her disbelief: stood silently as she moved forward to tentatively press one finger to his jaw line, moving her touch along his face, to make sure he was real. Finally, she was convinced and moved even closer, to pull him to her in one of their fierce, joyous hugs. She breathed him in—he still smelled the same, if not somewhat sweaty (nerves'll do that to you) and with just a hint of some light, delicate, _French _perfume (so'll hugging French women).

"How long did you wait?" he asked, and he could hear the smile in his voice, along with some sort of…urgency.

"Five and a half hours," she told him, or thereabouts anyway. Too long, that's how long she'd waited. All of her life. But that wasn't what he was asking. He wanted to know exact time, which was both surprising and unsurprising, given who he was, what he was.

"Right," he said, holding her arms. "Always wait five and a half hours, then." Was that rule number three now? Or four—she didn't often keep track. But instead of leading them all onto the TARDIS, taking them all to some other time or planet or ship, even, he was running about this ship again, readying himself for…for what? Rose watched him for a second, as he returned to Reinette's room via the fireplace. So he was going back for her. Briefly Rose wondered whether there'd be room on the TARDIS for yet another companion, and then her sense of logic began tugging at her.

Of course there wasn't room for another companion, it told her—he'd found his new companion, and the first stop they'd take when he brought his beautiful French lady on board, would be back to London to drop off his old companion. That's all she was, after all. Just a companion, someone to hold his hand in the dark and cold of space. Maybe he was tired of her, or thought she was tired of him, and would now make her leave, return to her former life. Now that she'd seen how he lived, what life could really be, that 'old life' of hers was nothing at all. She dreaded going back home—or whatever the Doctor called her home. Stupid, idiot, thick-headed man that he was, he had yet to realize that _he_ was her home, and that place on Earth was just where the rest of her family lived.

She sighed, and then followed Mickey onto the TARDIS. Or what if he was just going to lock them in here, send them back? There wasn't anything she could do about it then, if he wanted to stay here in France with his Reinette. She stood in the middle of the control room, hoping that, instead of the engines of the TARDIS, she'd hear the doors. Instead of a hologram of her Doctor, she'd see the real thing standing before her. Hoping, against hope, that he would choose her over the obvious better choice. It was all stupid, really, but…she still couldn't keep from hoping.

"What're you looking so scared for?"

Mickey's voice intruded upon her thoughts, restarted her heart. She looked over at him, somewhat sheepishly and yet somewhat annoyed at him for interrupting her. He rolled his eyes at her. "Rose, you can't possibly think that the Doctor would leave us here while he went off cavorting with that French woman." She arched her eyebrow at him. He already had, hadn't he? He'd made it quite clear earlier, where his heart was, when he went through that window knowing he'd never make his way back. That he'd returned really spoke more to his sense of duty to the two of them than any sort of love she hoped he might feel towards her. Before she could find a way to put any of this into English, the door opened and the Doctor returned.

Strange that she couldn't find it in herself to be happy he was back. Her heart rate hadn't sped up, and she felt no inclination to go running into his arms. Mostly it was because he looked so upset right now, so quietly heartbroken that she didn't want to interrupt him. Also, it was because now that she knew where his hearts lay, she doubted whether he'd accept a hug from her or anything like that. She bit her lip, studying him as he moved around the panel, mumbling about the rest of the time windows and confusion and what else. Everything felt so strange right now, now that she'd seen him as a man in love.

"Why her?" It was a stupid question. She knew 'why her,' but somehow, wanted to hear it from her Doctor's mouth. He looked at her strangely, and she realized that she'd asked him aloud. She hurried to amend her question, asking something useless about the ship and the head of Madame Pompadour. That wasn't what she'd meant at all, but knew the Doctor would never realize it. She felt Mickey's eyes on the back of her head, but ignored them, lowering her own eyes so she wouldn't have to look at the Doctor like this. He answered her question, moving to the control panel and talking about the time windows or some such rubbish. He didn't understand.

But he was alright, he said, holding her gaze and looking much more sure of himself than she felt right now. He was always alright.

He was also a liar. He was not alright. But somehow, even though she knew how upset he was at the moment, Rose couldn't stop thinking of herself. Would he say that after she'd gone? Would he tell his new companion that, sure, of course he was alright. She was just some Earth girl, nothing too important. He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, and certainly didn't do a damn thing to hide any of his sadness. She tilted her head, watching him, trying to decide whether he'd let her hug him not out of triumph or relief, but out of sympathy. She didn't want to see him this sad…

She couldn't move towards him, however—Mickey took hold of her hand, pulled lightly. She followed him silently out of the room, under the pretense of showing him round the rest of the TARDIS. They both knew she wouldn't be playing Trudy Tour Guide right now, but maybe Mickey realized something that she didn't, couldn't. In any case, it wouldn't do the Doctor any favors to stand there, staring at him. He was here again, which meant he had left Reinette in favor of Mickey and Rose. He'd given up love for duty. He needed time alone, to contemplate that, even more than she'd need time to resign herself to the fact that she was mere duty, as opposed to love.


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey led Rose from the control room. He knew better than to actually think she was going to be up to giving him a tour of the place at the moment, but he also knew that the Doctor had looked like he needed some space at the moment.

Fancy that: needing space when you're floating out in the middle of it in a teeny little blue police box. He shook his head and slipped his arm around Rose's waist. Funny how he'd adjusted so quickly to the fact that he wasn't Rose's boyfriend anymore. Nothing had really been made official: it was more of a feeling. He was no longer the main male in Rose's heart, not that he really ever thought he'd been in the first place. It was just that he'd seen how Rose looked at the Doctor, even when he made her cry. He'd seen how she changed once she'd met the Doctor, and would be hard-pressed to say that it was a bad change. It just reinforced his belief that they'd never really been meant to be. It was hard to explain, and he was hardly a man to sit around and think about how he was feeling.

How Rose was feeling though, he didn't need to think about. He already knew. Maybe it was the TARDIS translating from body language to…Mickeyspeak, but he could sense the feelings coming off of Rose as they walked. Still, of course, he had no idea what to do about them. Should he speak right now, or say nothing and let her be? He wished the TARDIS could just tell him what to do. But then, that might be putting too much faith in the vessel of that man in there. He really had no idea how Rose felt about him, when it was so blatantly, painfully obvious to absolutely everyone who'd ever seen them. He shook his head as they reached what he assumed to be Rose's room. It looked a little like Rose's bedroom back at home, so he figured the coincidence was just too great. She went inside, sitting on her bed with a whispery sigh, and he leaned in the doorway, looking at her.

He still wasn't sure what should be said at a point like this. Should he be talking about how fortunate it was that the Doctor had found a way back to them? Should he be talking about what as arse he was? Should he even know that? He took a step towards Rose, then a step back towards the doorway. Did she want him in here? He groaned inwardly and went to sit next to Rose, slipping his arm around her back. He could sit here in silence, he decided: just let her direct whatever conversation they might have. That was obviously the better idea.

So for a long time (not that he really knew how long it was) they sat there in silence, until Rose finally turned to him, as though in some sort of daze. He looked at her expectantly, still going with the thought that it was best to let her start talking.

"He left, Mickey," she said, and her voice sounded strangely flat. It wasn't hollow, really…just…flat. Lacking of emotion. Was this what shock sounded like? He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Who? The Doctor? No he didn't. Remember, Rose? He's in there at the console, flying this thing through space and time. You were just talking to him. Don't you feel well?" He reached up to feel her forehead—maybe she was running a fever or something like that. She knocked his hand away with an indignant huff.

"Mickey, that's not what I meant," she spat out. At least she didn't sound so void of emotion anymore. "Mickey, he did leave us. Alright, sure, he managed to find a way back, but that was just dumb luck, wasn't it?" She shook her head. "Nevermind, just forget it. I'm being stupid about this whole thing. I'm alright now, really." She gave him a smile, and he studied her silently. She didn't honestly expect him to believe that, did she? From the looks of things, she did. Alright, fine. He stood up.

"Okay, then," he said. "I'm gonna go to my room now, alright? If you need anything, then just come find me."

Rose gave him that Look, and he shrugged, holding his hands out in front of him. "Hey, I was just saying." He didn't leave, though, stopping in her doorway. "Look, Rose…" He trailed off, trying to think of something reassuring and comforting to say, but she cut him off before he could get it out.

"Mickey, please…" She said softly. Her tone surprised him. "I'll be alright, I just need…some time, is all. Thanks." She looked up at him, eyes somewhat watery but overall still very…Rose. He nodded, glad to see she was a little better, and went to press a kiss to her forehead before heading to his room, as he'd said he would.

Finally alone, Rose lay back on her bed, picking at the fuzz on her shirt. This was ridiculous. Why should it matter to her, exactly why the Doctor came back to her? Wasn't it enough that he came back, period? She meant enough to him—even if it was only duty-wise or something—that he gave up this woman that he loved for her. She turned over onto her side. What was she expecting? Did she want this man to fall madly in love with her or something? Did she even think she was in love with him? He had needed to save Reinette, Madame Pompadour. He could hardly be expected to have gone into soliloquies about how much he loved her and how much he'd miss her and…no. She sighed and closed her eyes. She'd just sleep, that was all. Sleep was good—healing, restful sleep would probably be a great idea.

Or, you know, any other kind of sleep would do too, really…


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, so he'd lied. What of it? Instead of going to his room, Mickey made a detour for the control room, where he'd last seen the Doctor standing there at the console. Sure enough, there he was, staring at a particularly obnoxious blinky light. A sheet of paper sat unfolded in front of him, though he wasn't paying attention to it anymore. After a few moments, he finally realized that Mickey was standing there looking at him, and turned to look at him as well, with a halfhearted smile. He didn't bother to speak, though. Great. Mickey'd have to take the first step, then.

Which he did. He approached the Doctor, gesturing towards the letter on the console. "So what's that, then," he asked. The Doctor looked at the letter, then at him, and quickly folded it back up to put it into his jacket pocket. Mickey nodded, shoving his hands into his own pockets. "Yeah, 'swhat I thought, I guess." There were a few moments of silence—Mickey wasn't sure what to say and the Doctor wasn't…well, when it came to Mickey, he wasn't exactly a man of many words. Finally, Mickey found his tongue again. "So what was it like?" He asked. The Doctor looked at him curiously. "I mean, crashing through that time window and knowing you'd never come back."

The Doctor blinked a few times and looked away, obviously believing one of the buttons on the switchboard to be incredibly important at this exact instant. Mickey waited a few moments, giving the man the benefit of the doubt, in hopes that he was trying to come up with an answer. When he realized that either he was being ignored or just wasn't going to get said answer, he sighed and elaborated, with the intention of getting a rise out of this silent, almost-sullen man. "Because I can tell you what it was like on our end. Rose stood there right in front of that spot where you disappeared for five and a half hours, Doctor, did you know that? I thought she was going to have a bloody breakdown or something."

The Doctor looked at him, and his eyes were somewhat pained. This didn't stop Mickey—the expression on the Doctor's face was nothing compared to what he'd seen from Rose earlier that day. "You could have at least told her goodbye, you know. She didn't get nothing from you, not even a nod or a hug. You two hug a lot, right? How come you didn't say nothing to her before you left? What if that had been the last time she'd see you? And you couldn't even give her a proper goodbye."

The Doctor now opened his mouth to speak, but Mickey wasn't done with him yet. Sure, he risked getting thrown off the ship to float through space and ultimately die, but someone had to say these things. Rose wasn't going to: that was for damn sure. She was too logical about this whole thing, or that's what she wanted him to think, anyway. He stepped closer to the man in the suit, and continued.

"I'm sorry that whatever happened with that French lady, happened, but it did, Doctor, and that's over, ain't it? But Rose is in there in her room now, pretending to be asleep and fully convinced that she's worth nothing to you." He caught the man's eyes, wondering where the hell this courage was coming from. The Doctor looked truly upset now, even more so than he had when he'd boarded the TARDIS earlier. Mickey softened his own expression into something regarding sympathy, and lowered his voice. "And we both know that ain't true, don't we, mate?"

The Doctor turned away from him now, obviously distressed. He ran his fingers through his already-messy hair, making it even more impossibly tousled. Mickey felt a slight twinge of pity for the man. After all, he'd only been trying to do what he thought was right, wasn't he? "Did…did she say that?" he asked, finally speaking. His voice was strange, strained and almost cracking. "Does she really think that?" He turned to Mickey now, studying his face. "She can't…she _must _know…"

Mickey shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and the Doctor's entire stance just sort of…dropped. His shoulders slumped and he went over to sit down, holding his head in his hands. "I've made a mess of things, Mickey," he mumbled. "It's like I can't do anything right when it comes to her."

Mickey hesitated before walking over to the man in the chair. Comforting blokes wasn't exactly his strongest suit. With good reason. He cleared his throat and leaned on the control panel, after first making sure he wasn't going to accidentally sit on any important lever or something. "You can do something, you know," he said. "She's just in there, in her room."

The Doctor looked up at him, somewhat skeptically. "You think she'll let me in, after tonight?"

Mickey shrugged. He could leap through time windows into France, but was afraid to cross the threshold into a small, blonde human's bedroom? "It's worth a try, ain't it, Doctor?"


	5. Chapter 5

And so he went to her. Sort of.

The Doctor stood outside Rose's bedroom door for what seemed like ages, trying to decide what she would throw at him if he tried to go talk to her. If she was in bed, there wasn't much—pillows didn't hurt all that much: not if they were being thrown by humans, anyway—but then again, there was all that stuff on her nightstand. Last time, there'd been a brush…He scratched his head, then stopped, realizing that he was just stalling for time here, just being a coward. He should now complete the mission and go inside.

There. Thinking about it like that made it a little bit easier. Almost. He reached out and tentatively closed his fingers around the doorknob, ready to snatch his hand back as though burned at the first hint of unwelcomness. Nothing happened. If anything, the TARDIS seemed to make a strange, mechanical noise of approval. What was this all about? He exhaled deeply, and slowly opened the door, stepping through the crack.

It was dark: she must be asleep. Right, then, better come back tomorrow morning, right? He turned to leave, but the door creaked shut. Since when did the TARDIS take such an interest as far as his companions went? He sighed and jiggled the doorknob, not really expecting any response, before turning back towards the bed. He could vaguely make out a sleeping form curled there under the covers: Rose's sleeping form. As he stood there, though, something changed in said form. She turned onto her other side restlessly, making a small noise of discomfort—maybe even a whimper of sorts. He moved closer, then stepped away, not entirely sure what was to be done in a situation like this. Was she hurt, or just dreaming?

"Doctor…?" came a very small voice, and for a moment he thought she was awake and aware of his presence. No, that was silly, he realized—she must be dreaming. Feeling very much like an intruder, the Doctor stood there in the middle of her room, watching her for a few more moments and feeling somewhat helpless. She'd had nightmares before—after the things she'd seen, he couldn't blame her—but always before, he'd never felt so…strange about going to her, waking her up.

"Don't leave…"

His hearts stopped beating for a moment at her pitiful plea. His body moved, now of its own accord, towards her. "I didn't leave, Rose…" he whispered, not sure whether he actually wanted her to hear him. "Rose, I'm right here…I will never leave."

A sniffle now, and he could hear her clutching at her pillow or something, a rustling sound. He moved closer, straining his eyes to try to make out the exact details of her face. He could only see the basic outline, a few highlights here and there where starlight from the window touched her skin.

"Why her?"

Her voice was strangely forlorn now, though she was merely repeating the words she'd said earlier. He'd answered that already, he thought. What could she possibly be dreaming about? He sat on the edge of her bed, wishing he could see what she was dreaming. Then again…he could, really. He doubted she'd like it, but she already disliked him, so what could be worse? He stroked her cheek—she was entirely too warm, and her skin was wet, probably from tears—then placed his fingers lightly on her temples, nudging oh-so-gently. He didn't want to outright appear in her dream, just sort of…witness a few moments of it.

He recognized the street—it was in London, near Rose's place. There, over on a corner—there was the TARDIS, and Rose, too. She was standing there quietly, the wind blowing through her hair, staring at the doors. The engines of the TARDIS sounded, and his ship gradually disappeared. Did she want him to take her home, he wondered? He couldn't do that. He just…couldn't. Maybe not even if she wanted him to. He doubted he was strong enough of a person to manage that. "Why her?" he heard her mumble brokenly in the dream as she crossed her arms in front of herself protectively. "Why not me, Doctor?" She wiped her eyes, then, drew in a deep breath, and looked up at the sky, before breaking out into new tears.

The Doctor pulled away quickly. Rassilon, he'd done a number on this girl, he thought, hiding his face in his hands yet again. He felt Rose's movement before he heard it, really, and then she was sitting up, pretending to wipe sleep from her eyes. It was actually tears, he realized, but…he'd humor her, for now. "Doctor?" she asked sleepily. "What are you doing? Are you alright?" He felt her gentle hands on his shoulder, and looked up at her.

"I'm fine, Rose," he said. "Just sounded like you were having a nightmare, love…I was checking to see that you were alright." He met her eyes in the almost-dark. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Rose quickly averted her eyes and shook her head, conjuring up a vaguely-realistic, self-deprecating laugh as she waved dismissively at him. "No, it's stupid, really. Something about those clockwork men and stale toast or something. I'm alright." She still wasn't meeting his eyes, and it wasn't as though he could blame her. He sighed. She was lying to him. Obviously. But it wasn't like he didn't deserve it.

"Alright, Rose," he said, resignedly. "Alright." He stood up, though he stayed by the side of her bed and took her hand in his, then caught her eyes. "I'm just the next room over if you need me: you know that, right? I'm never going to leave you, Rose, never again." He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there for several moments too long, and stroked the back of her head. "Goodnight, darling…"

He backed out of her room slowly, though he stood by her door throughout the night.


End file.
